This last week has seen a dramatic change come over the garden and the nearby countryside. Having not been at home at this time of year since 1998 and having gotten used to the almost total absence of nature that only urban living delivers, you tend to forget how much the seasons really do affect your surroundings and your mood. Explosions of colour; the change of the light like someone has placed some sort of filter or lense between us and the sun; the altogether fresher and more uplifting quality of the air and the more hospitable temperature mean that Summer is fast approaching. There is the danger however, that I will be deprived of the comfort I derive from being cooped up in doors and wearing my Winter clothes. I definitely prefer my Winter clothes because I really have to think about what I wear in the Summer lest I show off either too much of my poor taste in Summery clothes, or worse still, too much of my pasty flab. Of course in Winter no one really cares what you wear anyway because we’re all too busy keeping warm. Summer seems to make you care about these things probably because the bus with all the girls on returns to deposit them pretty much wherever you go. This inescapable and inextricable factor of Summer does worry a laid-back chap like me and next thing I know I’ll probably be rushing around the place, like Bernard, yelling about how “I’ve got to get a girlfriend!”, and how “She’ll be a summery girl!” and the fact that “She’ll have hair!” and “She’ll have summery friends who know how to be outside” and “She’ll play tennis and wear dresses and have bare feet…” and frankly it’ll all be a bit too much of a hassle. Oh, no, wait! It’s just clouded over and it’s now started raining. Thank god for that.